The morning after Ibbie’s trial, the Pack House didn't just wake up; it transformed.
The tension that had hung over the compound for weeks had evaporated like mist under the sun. In its place was a strange, bustling energy.
I sat on the edge of Guilermo’s bed, watching him button his shirt. He looked different. Lighter. The constant, crushing weight of the pack’s anxiety had been lifted, and he stood taller because of it.
"You're staring," he said, catching my eye in the mirror.
"I'm admiring," I corrected. "You look… rested."
"I slept," he said, turning to face me. "Actually slept. No dreams. No static."
He walked over and kissed me. It was a quick, domestic peck that made my heart flutter in a way that felt entirely too girlish for a woman who had just overthrown a Coven Elder.
"I
